Tricky Little Spell
by The Lady Fair
Summary: Severus always thought his nose was his most unfortunate feature. Large, crooked and sometimes overwhelmingly sensitive, he never really liked the damned thing. But when his wife comes home one day in a mood, he finds that there is one thing his nose is useful for. One-shot, EWE, Snamione-SS/HG


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 **Tricky Little Spell**

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Severus always thought his nose was his most unfortunate feature. Large, crooked and sometimes overwhelmingly sensitive, he never really liked the damned thing. When he was younger, he'd thought to curse it off. After the war, he considered giving a healer a whack at reconfiguring. But his nose was like a bad habit and he was hard pressed to do anything about it except complain.

Said bodypart twitched as a new smell was introduced to Severus' lab–warm and soothing like honeyed biscuits. Smirking, Severus cast a stasis on his potion and met his wife halfway across the lab. She was content and wrapped her arms around him.

Face buried in chestnut curls, Severus inhaled deeply. "Good day?"

Hermione nodded. Her words were muffled by the dragonhide apron covering his chest. "The Wizengamot conceded."

"Hmmmm," he hummed, knowing she'd been working hard for this day for more than a year.

Still, he pouted a little above her head. She should have been more than content with the Wizengamot's concession. She should have been ecstatic. Sniffing the air delicately, he wondered briefly if his nose was on the fritz. It was ridiculous of course. Severus hadn't suffered a cold or allergies since the pepper-up incident of '89. So it was more likely…

"The elves?" he asked.

Hermione pulled away, her face twisted in a sneer she'd learned from him. "Ignorant beasts."

Cinnamon spice wafted towards Severus and he hid his smirk. This was more like his witch. Very rarely was Hermione satisfied with a partial win. Like a cat with cream, she always wanted the whole bowl.

"They declined the settlements?" he asked knowingly.

"Damnable creatures," she spat.

Stomping across the lab, Hermione busied herself with tearing ingredients off the shelves randomly. Severus knew better, though. He'd been appalled the first time she'd taken over his lab after they married–her willy-nillied, rampaging brewing something out of his worst nightmares. Surely she knew better than to set the powdered asphodel next to the volatile dragon's bile? He'd taught her better!–but now, after three years together, Severus knew better.

There was always perfect order to everything his wife did. Even if her order looked like chaos to everyone else.

Waiting until she started brewing, the entire basement-turned-lab of their modest home seeped in the scent of warm cinnamon and an edge of ginger, Severus leaned one hip against his brewing table and re-engaged Hermione.

"You've spent sixteen months writing legislature for those creatures, love," he reminded gently.

"Sixteen bloody stupid months," she mumbled, chopping a vine with such fervor Severus was sure she imagined it was one of the elves. "Waste of time. Wretched, Stockholmed little beasts…"

Her rant could go on for hours. And, while he was endlessly entertained by the increasingly creative curses his wife could come up with when she really hit her stride, Severus thought it was best to cut this one short. He did have a potion to finish.

"Snivelling slaves unable to see just how insane the–"

In his best professorial voice, Severus interrupted Hermione's ranting. "Cease your inane prattling this instant, woman."

The temperature in the lab dropped instantly. Olfactory glands doused in spearmint, Severus wrinkled his nose and scowled. He hated spearmint. He also–he noticed with alarm as Hermione turned on him, fingers still deftly brandishing her knife–had drastically underestimated just how upset his wife really was.

Though every nerve in his body screamed at him to beat a hasty retreat, Severus maintained control, settling his scowl into something that could petrify even the Weasley twins.

But not his wife.

"Don't give me that look, Snape," Hermione growled, sounding every bit the pissed off lion she was. "I am not your student any longer."

It was always bad when she resorted to his last name, Severus knew. But he'd already started down this path and was set to see it through to conclusion, regardless the outcome. If anything, it was a good experiment. If he was lucky, he'd play the right cards and end her snit.

"Of course not, Mrs. Snape," he purred, drawing her name out and staring her down. The smell of mint was almost overwhelming. "You're now the foremost legislator fighting for the rights of magical creatures. You've successfully improved the lives and stations of werewolves,centaurs and goblins in less time than it takes most people to woo a spouse…"

Most people. But not him. He'd had Hermione from first attraction to wedding bed in less than two months. Some people might count the dozen or so years they'd known each other before that, but he certainly didn't.

He pressed on. "You're well-respected, well-published and have not one, not two, but four masteries to your name and that's excluding your muggle degrees."

Nostrils flaring, Severus tried to get a feel for how his monologue was being received. Hermione hadn't descended to attacking, or worse ignoring, him–her chest heaved against her too restrictive court robes in suppressed fury but she held his gaze steadily. However, she also hadn't relaxed her grip on the knife.

It was as good as he could hope for and he rolled his shoulders back, standing to his full height before advancing on his wife. "My former student would never have had the foresight or intuition you've used to turn the magical world on its head," he paused as he towered over her, smirking as her lips parted ever-so-slightly as she looked up at him. "My former student didn't have the finesse or experience to push past disappointment, to test out a new angle, to see what others simply won't and follow it through to a satisfactory conclusion."

"No," Hermione agreed, her voice breathless.

Slipping a hand into her curls, Severus secretly rejoiced at the warmth seeping back into the room. Honeyed biscuits and sweet cream. He bent his head until their lips were a breath apart, getting lost in Hermione's dark gaze.

"It's a good thing it was my wife in that courtroom today," he drawled. "Instead of the ever-insufferable Miss Granger."

"Yes." She egged him on, her lips brushing his briefly to form the word.

Severus curled his fingers around her neck, stroking the silken flesh at the base of her skull. He couldn't get enough of the fine baby curls there. As Hermione's eyes drifted closed, the heady scent of her desire met his nose and he smirked.

"You'll think of something, love. The elves can't contradict you forever."

She nodded, her own fingers deftly undoing the ties on his apron. "Thank you."

The heavy dragonhide garment fell to the ground and Severus set about rendering his witch speechless, both potions forgotten.

Hours later, limbs tangled together as they lay before the dying fire beneath Hermione's cauldron, Severus sniffed the air appreciatively. Honey, biscuits, cream and sex. He tucked his sated wife against his side and smiled a secret, satisfied smile.

For the first time in his life, Severus was thankful for his nose. His large, sensitive beautiful nose and the tricky little spell he'd created, assigning specific scents to each of Hermione's predominant emotions. All he had to do was sniff the air and know exactly how to handle his wife–a wife who had single-handedly out-maneuvered the Wizengamot on numerous occasions.

Delicate hands wandered down his chest and Severus didn't even need to use his nose to know what his wife wanted. He chuckled and pulled her on top of him. A tricky little spell indeed.

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 _ **The End**_

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End file.
